


Late Nights

by Dreadful Weather Today (TearoomSaloon)



Series: Trinkets [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon, professor/student
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:24:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1416676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TearoomSaloon/pseuds/Dreadful%20Weather%20Today
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had her doing so much paper work tonight. Her head was spinning from the caffeine, and being reminded of last year wasn't doing well for her mental stability.<br/>Please don't let him see her curled into the couch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Nights

It just wasn’t  _fair_.

She was curled into the sofa in the upstairs psychiatric department lounge, stacks upon stacks of paper spread far and wide all around. She couldn’t  _possibly_  go through all these tonight. She wasn’t ready. Where had the time gone? Where had  _anything_  gone?

No, seriously, she couldn’t find her shoes in this mess.

Alana sat up, rubbing the tiredness from her eyes. It was nearly two in the morning and she had to be up in six hours…she had to be done in six hours. She wasn’t sleeping today. She probably wasn’t sleeping tomorrow either. Exhausted, she pulled herself from the comfy couch of doom, slinking down to the twenty-four hour cafe in the department’s lobby. She mumbled something sleepily to the woman and the register, only to find a voice behind her ask to double the order. She wasn’t about to pay for some free-loading—

Dr. Lecter stood behind her, his eyes red-rimmed and sleepless. He must be up for the long haul too if he wanted a triple-shot espresso…something that sounded energetic. There was something odd about seeing her mentor, who was  _always_  in pristine condition, drained and visibly finished. He never looked this vulnerable in public, or this human. She always joked with Clarissa and Jocelyn that he came off as a Ken doll, but now…

"What are you doing up this morning?"

She was struck a bit dumbfounded. He didn’t  _know_? He assigned her night’s torture. “Ph.D candidates, otherwise known as your dirty work.”

"Oh. I wanted those in by tomorrow, didn’t I?"

"Yup."

He reached over her and passed a debit card to the cashier, taking both drinks and the card back, glaring when she opened her mouth to protest. “I’m the reason you’re up, I’m paying.”

She thanked him and proceeded to slink back to her cluttered nest of work. The coffee kicked in fifteen minutes later, sending her into a fluttered rush and rustle of papers and beige folders. Her fingers throbbed from gripping pens tightly and the headache weighing on her temples increased, but she shoved the distractions away until—

A face she didn’t want to see. A face she would rather burn. Her throat grew hot, aching as she held back a whine. She bit her tongue and threw the file across the room, chucking a shoe after it.

The whine came out as a strangled, choked cry.

She cut off at the sound of footsteps outside the door. A soft knock begged entrance and she managed a wet  _come in_ before settling herself further into the couch cushions, wanting so desperately to hide.

"Alana?"

"Hi Hannibal."

Please let her disappear. Please just let her become part of the sofa. Please, she just wanted to be a piece of furniture.

He swept in like an eagle, striking and beautiful, his coat billowing like great wings behind him. “Are you all right?”

She nodded wiping tears with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry, I just—I had a moment. I’m fine.”

"You look like a train wreck.”

She laughed nervously, uncurling her legs. “I had a bad experience last year, with someone you’ve assigned me to look over. I overreacted, I’ll be okay. Really, it’s nothing.”

He locked the door and joined her gracefully on the couch. Too graceful for this early in the morning. “If you want to talk about it, you may speak to me. Or, maybe, since that may not be savory, I can recommend you a therapist.”

"It’s not that serious," she said quickly.

He tilted his head skeptically.

She looked away. “Maybe it is that serious.”

"No one will be up at this hour, but in the morning, I—”

"I don’t care if it’s improper for you to listen. I’m not going to talk about this in the morning." She laid her head on his shoulder. "It’s not like we’re exactly proper." 

He chuckled, resting his head against hers. “What ails you, Alana dear?”

"I…there was this…" Her breath hitched. "I lied I can’t do this. I’m just going to cry the whole time."

"It’s fine if you need to cry."

She shook her head, nuzzling into his side. “Can I stay over tonight?”

"Don’t you have work to do?"

She smacked him in the chest.

"Tomorrow night. My colleagues already suspect our affair; if we show up at the same time it will only confirm their suspicions. Besides, I can make you breakfast if you stay over tomorrow."

"And dinner?"

"Only the best for you, lamb."


End file.
